


The 4 AM High

by Solemnly_Swear (Fitzsimmonsx)



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Late night/early morning friendship, Two snarky bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzsimmonsx/pseuds/Solemnly_Swear
Summary: Veronica Mars doesn’t particularly want to be awake this early in the morning (this late in the night?), but Logan keeps calling her to pick him up, and for some reason, she keeps coming.(aka Logan needs a friend and Veronica is there) (one-shot)
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	The 4 AM High

**Author's Note:**

> This is set around 1x17, I guess? Before their kiss but after Veronica works his mom’s case. Man, I really hate Logan sometimes, but these two are very shippable.

He’s barely conscious when she arrives.

He’s sitting at the end of the driveway, almost propped up against the mailbox, and he looks more at peace than he has in months. His eyes are closed, his arms defensively wrapped around himself, but then when the lights of Veronica’s car cast shadows behind him, he opens his eyes and he’s Logan Echolls again. He raises an eyebrow, as if asking why she’s there. As if reminding her that she doesn’t belong, not anymore.

Obligatory psychotic jackass, remember?

She’s not going to lie, she nearly bolts. Her foot is on the gas pedal and it would take just a little bit of pressure to cruise past (well, cruise might be a bit too kind of a verb for her car). But he stands and walks up to her as she inches forward, as if he has all the faith in the world that she’s going to stop. So she does. Reluctantly, but slowly, and then fully as she puts the car in park.

She rolls down the window.

“What’s up, Echolls? Designated driver leave you hanging?” She’s going for casual, maybe a little pissed off (she’s got plenty of that), but it comes out more sharply than intended.

She’s never seen Logan Echolls at a loss for words before (except for maybe that once, in the hotel lobby, sobbing in her arms— they don’t talk about that), but she thinks he might be now. He opens his mouth, and for a second she thinks she’s going to get an apology. Or maybe an explanation. That would be nice— she’s losing valuable sleep these nights, and she was never running on much to begin with. She could be working the cases she has lined up, or hanging out with Wallace, but instead she’s at Logan’s beck and call at 3 AM.

Well, she supposes she’d also like an explanation from herself— why does she keep coming? She was never Logan’s phone buddy before. What makes her pick up when she knows it’s him? What makes her force the address out of him?

Pity, she supposes. (Or maybe, in a darker place, a sort of understanding. She doesn’t like him, but she knows that if anything, Logan is a product of his circumstances. And sometimes she’s seen glimpses of him away from it all. She’s half sure Logan could have been a better guy if not for what he’s gone through.)

But call it what you will— sympathy, twisted friendship, maybe even a little bit of like thrown in (not that she’d ever admit it)— she doesn’t finds out why he’s been calling. His mouth closes and then opens another time and a hand flies up to it.

“I’m going to be sick,” he moans.

He does it in the flower beds at the side of the driveway, then kicks some dirt over it when he’s done, staggering a little. When he’s back within window-range, Veronica raises an eyebrow.

“Classy,” she says. “Remind me, why do I help you?”

He darts a glance at her and then climbs in carefully, deliberately not speaking. Eventually, he offers up a, “for old time’s sake?”, but it’s halfhearted and Veronica doesn’t deign to respond. She just takes the car out of park and steps on the gas, following the well-worn route to the Echolls residence.

When she stops (a little further down from the house, because after all this time, those towering gates still give her the creeps), he hesitates.

His head is resting against the headrest, turned into the shadows, but she hears him clearly.

“I don’t want to go home,” he says. “I can’t look at that bastard. It’s just me and him now, and—“ He looks at her, finally, eyes searching her face as if hoping to find some hint of sympathy or understanding.

The opening of the car door jolts her out of whatever trance she’s been in, and she breathes. “Thank you for the ride,” he says bitterly.

She snaps.

“You know, that’s just like you. I’ve been giving you rides for nights now. Remember Wednesday? My dad was out working a case and trusted me to stay at home, and I had to sneak out like a delinquent. And for what?” She might be laying it on too thick— she’s snuck out plenty of other times for various personal reasons and never really felt guilty. But it annoys her that the reason is Logan.

He turns back around, leaning on the car with his hand on the frame. “I don’t know,” he says. “Why don’t you ask yourself? I would have before now, but I know you Mars women only speak when you’re ready to tell.” It’s a sort of joke, but it puts a twinge in Veronica’s chest. No one’s referred to her as part of the “Mars women” in a while. She supposes that’s part of it right there— he’s a piece of her past, and he doesn’t fit now, his edges are all jagged, but she doesn’t quite want to let go of him.

“I hate you, Logan Echolls,” she says, and she can see him tense. He wasn’t looking for sympathy, earlier, she realizes. He was looking for hatred— and he found it. “I hate you, but—“

His face darkens, and he pulls his hand off the frame. “I don’t want your pity,” he spits out, slamming the car door shut for good measure.

Out of instinct, Veronica wrenches the driver’s side open and runs after him. She’s reminded of the credit cards, and his mother’s suicide, and the whole range of expressions she’d never seen on him before. “Logan, wait,” she calls out. Her foot catches on the way up the curb— she’s always thought it’s like the sidewalks are higher in this part of Neptune— and she barely catches herself from stumbling.

She’s lost him for sure now. She lets out a breath and looks up, and he’s there, walking back towards her for some inexplicable reason.

She smiles, more out of relief than anything. “You didn’t let me continue, jackass. I was gonna say, I know you.” She lets out a breath and rubs at her ankle a little. “I know you, and you need someone right now. I’ve been in the same spot, and believe me, going it alone is— well, it’s lonely. And dark.”

He takes a breath and just looks at her. “What? Are we friends now? Are you going to get started weaving that friendship bracelet?”

She feels a heated flash of anger and gets the image of her fist colliding with his face. It’s satisfying, but short-lived.

“Thank you,” he says, lower. “I don’t have many people to rely on, and I don’t know why, but recently you’ve been one of them.”

She gets a sick feeling that maybe she’s been the only one recently, and wonders why he can’t turn to Duncan. But then she understands. Veronica and Logan— they both have shit, but they’re solid. (Or at least Logan was until this week.) Duncan is less stable, and they’ve both loved him in different ways, but neither want to put anything more on him.

It’s strange to feel a sense of shared understanding with Logan, but she’s been having that a lot recently. She supposes she’ll have to get used to it if this is going to be a real friendship.

“Why, I think you’re right,” she says, pulling out her Southern accent. “The supplies are waiting on my desk, I’ll get started tomorrow.”

She smiles— it’s a tired one, but so is his when he smiles back.

“No smirk?”

“Nah, I’m saving them for the Madison Sinclairs of the world.”

“That would be a change. Don’t you usually hook up with them?”

He snorts. “Sure.”

She decides not to look to hard into it. “I’m going home,” she says. “But I don’t want to be getting these calls anymore.”

“Oh?” She can tell he’s trying to seem casual, but he’s failing. His shoulders are tensed again and his eyes are looking everywhere but at her.

She steps forward, so he has no choice but to look at her. (Bad choice, she has trouble breathing for a short second. Even the air is different up here. It’s like her body is rejecting it. War of the Worlds much?)

“I don’t want you calling me to pick you up unless you absolutely need it, but you’re welcome at Mars Investigations. Wallace and I hang out pretty much every afternoon. I know you have an aversion to stained glass, but if you need some company...”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Yes. Sounds good.”

She occupies herself digging around for her keys in her purse, and he steps forward and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Veronica.”

“I’m pretty sure you already said that, but I’ll take it. It’s not often that one receives gratitude from Logan Echo—“

“No, really, thank you for everything. I really— I really do appreciate you.”

She notices that he said “you”, not “it”. She has a small internal war in which her body tries to rebel against her, but once she gets it all under control, she forces out a, “No, yeah. Of course. I’m— yeah, I’m always around if you need me.”

Ugh. The forced jolliness is killing her. Can she erase that? She sees his amused-mocking expression coming, turning up his mouth at the edges, but it stops halfway at amused and never goes the rest.

She likes it. That’s the problem, she supposes. She hates him, she knows him, and yet she still likes him (well, when he’s not being a jackass).

She steps forward and wraps her arms around him, fleetingly, feeling the warmth of him through that jacket that he always has on, and then she pulls away.

“See you,” she calls out, crossing back over to her car. She only stops to breathe and look back at him once she’s safely in the driver’s seat, camouflaged in shadows.

He’s in the same position, frozen. When he sees her looking, he gives her a dazed wave (Veronica’s sure he thinks it looks cool. It does not. It looks like he’s been ambushed with a hug, though, and that is absolutely what happened, so she decides to cut him some slack).

She waves back, smiling a little just because no one can see, and then peels out and around the corner, headed toward the less-grand apartment complex she calls her home.

Well. If she smiles most of the way home, she blames it on the 4 AM high.


End file.
